Dragonfly
by mellowship
Summary: Part IV: Spencer is fighting the battle of her life. Warning: Contains heavy involvement of eating disorders.
1. Part I

**DRAGONFLY**

**PART I**

_**Spencer Hastings is fighting the battle of her life.**_

* * *

**Trigger Warning: This premise of this story involves Spencer having an eating disorder. Please read no further if this is a sensitive topic for you.**

* * *

**MAY 15, 2014 (PRESENT DAY)**

Spencer never meant for things to get so out of control. It all started because of one (what Spencer _thought _was insignificant) argument with her father just over seven months ago. As hazy as the brunette's mind was these days, Spencer could rehash the scenario verbatim. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she thought back to that morning.

* * *

**OCTOBER 6, 2013**

"How many times have I told you to mind your own damn business, Spencer!" Peter Hastings shouted, slamming his rolled-up newspaper on the marble countertop.

Spencer rolled her eyes as she reached for her mug of coffee. On second thought, she also grabbed a stray protein bar that lay near the toaster. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Dad?" she spat, accusation lacing each word. It was true that Spencer and her father had been arguing more and more, over what seemed to be unimportant issues. Seeing as how she was truly her father's daughter, though, Spencer didn't understand why he would be surprised that she would be relentless in trying to figure out what hand he had in the cover-up of Mrs. Cavanaugh's death. Moreover, Spencer didn't understand how her father could justify it.

"As a matter of fact, I would," Peter hissed through gritted teeth, pacing. "Any daughter of mine would know better than to go hacking into my work files! It's a gross invasion of not only my privacy, but my _clients'_ privacy!" He pounded his fist on the countertop for emphasis.

"Privacy?" Spencer snorted, bemused. Peeling apart the thin wrapper of the protein bar, she continued, "You know what happens when you get _privacy?_" She stared her father dead in the eye. Calculated coolness punctuated her next statement. "You wind up having illegitimate children with the neighbor."

Embarrassed and indignant, Peter's face grew an angry red. "That's **ENOUGH**, Spencer!" he roared, ripping the protein bar violently from Spencer's hand and smashing it to the floor in fury. He leaned in, close to his daughter's face, and his voice dropped to a menacing low. "Your behavior _disgusts_ me. I want you to stop sticking your big _fat_ nose where it doesn't belong, do you understand me? I will _not_ let you ruin this family."

Spencer jumped in shock, taking an involuntary step back. She hadn't expected that severe of a reaction. Sure, her father had a temper when pushed, but he'd never, not once, physically hurt or destroyed anything in anger. Eyes dropping to her stinging hand, Spencer gasped. A long scratch along ran along her right hand's back. Small droplets of blood raised to the surface, clotting. Her father's words, twisted, hung in the air like a suffocating fog; all of a sudden, Spencer couldn't breathe. Wordlessly, she ran to the door, her backpack left forgotten near the remnants of her uneaten breakfast. One long, final look at her father, whose head was hung in shame (_or was it disappointment?_) left Spencer eerily disturbed. It wasn't until she reached the end of her driveway that she fell apart, shaken. Hand clapping to her mouth to hide silent sobs, Spencer felt so confused. All she had wanted to do was to help Toby; she never meant to break her father's trust in her, to lose his respect. How little he thought of her. _And does he really think I'm fat? _ Spencer couldn't help but wonder that if she had been as pretty - as _perfect - _as Melissa, that none of this ever would have happened. In that moment, Spencer truly hated herself.

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

Spencer distinctly remembered the ill feeling in her stomach at the sight of her lunch that day as her father's words echoed in her head. She'd silently slipped her peanut butter and jelly sandwich back into her lunchbox and gnawed her apple slowly. "I'm not that hungry," had been Spencer's excuse. Unbeknownst to her at the time, it would be the same excuse she would give for the next seven months. Now, lying in her sterile white bed on the fourth floor of Rosewood Memorial, Spencer had all the time in the world to come up with better ones. Each second that ticked away on the clock, she felt the walls closing more and more in on her. Soon, the brunette would be fighting for her freedom. For now, though, she let herself sink into deep thought.

* * *

**FEBRUARY 14, 2014**

Fresh out of the shower, Spencer stood on the scale, towel wrapped firmly around her narrow middle. **111.2**, the number on the scale read. Frowning, Spencer tore off the towel, discarding it onto the floor. The numbers adjusted up and down until finally settling. **109.0. **"You've got to be kidding me," Spencer muttered. That meant she'd only lost eleven pounds since October. She jumped off of the scale, and, kicking it to the side, reached for her brush.

_"Failure!"_ the voice in Spencer's head screamed as she yanked the brush roughly through wet curls.

It persisted, even as the brunette slid on her favorite pair of skinny jeans, jeans which were now quite obviously loose. "_No one could love someone as fat and disgusting as you! Melissa would never let herself get this big."_

Staring at the visage in the mirror - her worst enemy - Spencer made a promise. There would be no Valentine's dinner with Toby tonight, she decided. Her next words were barely audible. "You don't deserve it."

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

Spencer could still hear the hurt and confusion in Toby's voice when she'd called to tell him she had to cancel their Valentine's plans. For a long time after the incident, she recalled, he wouldn't give up on her, even when Spencer had been giving up on herself. The past month or so, though, the barriers Spencer had built had grown so strong that even Toby couldn't break them down. God, did Spencer miss him. His smile, his smell, his voice. Toby hadn't come to visit her yet, though he must have surely been informed of her whereabouts by now. _"Oh, Spencer, you know what they say about hope," _that evil, critical voice tutted. She knew. For better or worse, she knew.

* * *

**MAY 10, 2014**

"Earth to Spencer!" the diminutive Aria Montgomery hollered, waving a manicured hand in Spencer's face.

Brown eyes widened, disoriented, as Spencer was jostled from her thoughts. "Huh? What'd I miss?"

Aria sighed with mock hurt. "Only half of our conversation!"

"Oh," Spencer smiled weakly. "I'm sorry Aria. I've just been really out of it lately."

Her tiny friend surveyed Spencer with concern and what appeared to be pity. "Me too. This stupid English test had me pulling all-nighters this week." Spencer knew that Aria was lying, and was grateful for that.

"You find The Great Gatsby stupid, Miss Montgomery?" Ezra Fitz interrupted, chastising Aria with the slightest trace of amusement. Spencer watched their interaction, and would have felt bad for her friend had she not been certain that Ezra was feeding her test answers over dessert in his love-nest. Ezra – _Mr. Fitz!_ Spencer scolded herself – walked over to Spencer and handed her a stack of test booklets. "Take one and pass them on, please," he instructed. Spencer didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on her hand as the booklets exchanged possession. Since losing twenty pounds, her fingers had taken on a pinkish-purplish hue, almost as if she'd been standing in the cold for too long. She was aware of this, and even a bit proud; this was a sign that her weight was moving in the right direction. That didn't mean she wanted the whole world to know her secret, though. Hand recoiling, Spencer gave her teacher a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks," she muttered, passing the booklets to the pockmark-faced boy behind her.

Opening her test booklet, Spencer quickly scanned the first question. **"What did the green light across the water mean to Gatsby and why?"**_ Easy enough_, Spencer thought. She whipped out a pencil and set to task. Mid-way through the exam, Spencer's stomach growled loudly. Clapping a hand to her belly, she quickly glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. Her eyes were met by Ezra's. Dropping her gaze back to the exam, Spencer hurried through the final couple of questions and excused herself to the bathroom.

"Ten minutes left, class," Ezra announced behind her.

Standing in front of the mirror, Spencer examined her reflection. Anyone who looked at Spencer would see a gaunt and sallow face, framed by dull, limp hair. They'd gasp at the sharp protrusion of her collarbones and scrawny arms spotted with small bruises of unknown origin. They'd frown at the bagginess of Spencer's pants that hung loosely below her hipbones despite being belted to the innermost hole. Turning to the side, Spencer ran a hand over her flat belly and, pinching the skin, frowned. Though she'd been obsessively performing sit-ups every night, there was still the slightest bulge of tummy.

She wanted to cry.

Spencer got back to Ezra's classroom just before the bell rang. Gathering her things, she turned to follow Aria out the door to lunch. "Spencer!" Ezra called out. "I need to talk to you for a minute!" A pit formed in the brunette's stomach. Aria gave her a reassuring squeeze before shutting the door on her way out.

"What's up Ez – Mr. Fitz?" she asked, feigning nonchalance.

Ezra smiled, that same look of concern and pity as Aria had worn earlier playing on his face. "Look, Spencer… people have noticed… I have noticed that you haven't been yourself lately."

Spencer laughed nervously. "What? I'm fine, Mr. Fitz. Promise."

Ezra shook his head, smile vanishing. "Things are more obvious than I imagine you'd like them to be. Though I'd rather you be honest with yourself about what's going on, I'm your teacher. I have a legal – and personal – obligation to ensure your well-being."

Brows furrowed. "Meaning…?"

"Meaning that if I suspect you are doing – or _not_ doing – something that's causing you harm, I have a duty to make your parents aware of said suspicion," Ezra replied with a regretful sigh. "I just want to give you an opportunity to, ah, to talk about things first."

Her heart hammered in her chest, panicked, but Spencer's expression remained stoic. "I wish I knew what you were talking about, Mr. Fitz," she replied coolly. "Can I please go to lunch now?"

Defeated, Ezra nodded. "Yeah. Yeah you can. Just think about about I said, okay?"

"I will." The lie spilled out easily. Par for the course.

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

As it turned out, Ezra never needed to spill Spencer's secret. That afternoon at field hockey practice, the world went black. Screams for help had been audible over nervous chatter, and it took the ambulance less than five minutes to get to Rosewood High and carry Spencer's limp body away. She didn't remember passing out or even getting to the hospital. Spencer thought back to that evening and shuddered as she recalled what happened next.

* * *

_AN (If you got this far): Thank you, truly, for reading. This subject is near and dear to my heart, as I and many close to my heart have suffered from some form of an eating disorder or disordered eating. And, although I consider myself recovered, I still clearly think about it a lot. Reviews are appreciated._


	2. Part II

**DRAGONFLY**

**PART II**

_**Spencer Hastings is fighting the battle of her life.**_

**Trigger Warning: The premise of this story involves Spencer having an eating disorder. Please read no further if this is a sensitive topic for you.**

* * *

**MAY 10, 2014**

"Underweight."

"Severe anemia."

"Hypokalemia."

"Dehydration."

"Borderline hypotension."

Spencer was truly surprised by the laundry list of medical issues that Dr. Amy Woodgate, a slim, flaxen-haired women with piercing green eyes, rattled off. She knew she'd felt awful lately, but awful enough to be hospitalized? Yeah, right. She felt like a failure, _weak_, for letting herself pass out at practice. Mostly, Spencer was heartbroken that she'd let her parents down. Again. What would they think of their daughter now, laid up in a hospital bed for no reason, costing them thousands of dollars? She sunk into her pillow with a frustrated sigh and examined the scene in front of her. Peter and Veronica were nodding intently as Dr. Woodgate continued discussing Spencer's lab results.

"…osteopenia indicating vitamin D and hormone deficiencies." The physician turned to Spencer now, short hair bobbing. "Spencer, when was the last time you had a menstrual cycle?"

Peter and Veronica looked at their daughter expectantly. _Okay, this is getting _way_ too personal_, Spencer thought, suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Silently, she picked at white fabric of her bed sheets, hoping that the spotlight would be shined elsewhere.

No such luck. "Spencer, answer the doctor's question," Veronica directed with quiet firmness, worry etching her face. To Spencer, her mother seemed to have aged one hundred years overnight.

Porcelain cheeks flushed. She didn't mean to upset anyone. "I don't know," Spencer mumbled quickly. She paused, deliberating. "Four months ago maybe?"

Dr. Woodgate looked down at her clipboard, scribbled a short note. "That's called amenorrhea. It's a condition also associated with hormone deficiencies. I'm not surprised that you've - "

"Sorry to interrupt," Peter interjected gruffly, "but what's the bottom line here? My daughter fainted without warning and now you're sitting here listing all of the conditions she now has without any implications."

Dr. Woodgate sighed, clicked her pen on the clipboard. Her next words were punctuated, patient. "What happened this afternoon was not without warning, Mr. Hastings. Every sign and symptom your daughter is presenting with is consistent with anorexia nervosa." She paused as she allowed the information to sink in. "I would like to keep Spencer here for a few days for further monitoring. I'm also recommending a psychiatric evaluation."

"Oh my God..." Veronica trailed off.

Peter raked his hands over his face with a sigh. "Anorexia?" He asked in disbelief. "With all due respect, Dr. Woodgate, that's not possible. Spencer is a healthy and strong seventeen-year-old girl. She's a field hockey star, she's at the top of her class… Hell, we go on three-mile runs together all the time."

"Used to." Spencer muttered under her breath.

Green eyes darted rightward. "Pardon?" Dr. Woodgate asked.

Spencer shrugged. "I said we _used_ to go running together. We haven't done that in a long time. Months."

Hurt flickered in her father's eyes as he met Spencer's accusing gaze. "No, I suppose we haven't," he admitted.

Clearing her throat, Dr. Woodgate guided the conversation back on track. "It's entirely possible, Mr. Hastings, and quite probable in Spencer's case. People with this disease – and it is a disease –, are often exactly as you've just described your daughter. Straight A students, athletes, highly successful perfectionists who happen to be their own harshest critics."

"What could have possibly Spencer to go down this path?" Veronica questioned. "We've given her everything she could ever want. Our daughters both lead very comfortable lives."

"The staff psychiatrist, Dr. Lacey, will be able to answer that question a little better. I'll arrange the evaluation for a couple days out, most likely on Thursday or Friday. This way, your daughter will be able to get some rest." Turning her attention to Spencer, Dr. Woodgate smiled sympathetically. "I can tell you're the type of girl whose wheels in her head never stop turning. It's okay to relax, Spencer. I'll be back to check on you later this evening."

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

Spencer was _so _ready to go home. She was going up the walls being stuck in her tiny, sterile hospital room, tubes and wires constricting her thin limbs like a snake. Running her hand through her knotted hair, Spencer scrunched her nose in disgust. She was pretty sure there were birds living in her tangled nest of curls. Pale pink hospital gown rustling as Spencer shifted in bed, she reached for the make-up bag that Hanna had dropped off after school for her yesterday. The analog clock indicated that it was eight in the morning. If Spencer remembered correctly, Dr. Lacey wouldn't be paying her a visit until eight-thirty. That gave her half an hour to get presentable. She needed to put her best face forward so that she could get the hell out of there.

Opening her compact, Spencer observed her face in the tiny mirror. Espresso eyes were overshadowed by dark circles. Her lips were dry and chapped. Spencer traced her cheeks. _Fatfatfat. _ Spencer knew in her heart that Dr. Woodgate was wrong; she couldn't be anorexic because she was so _fat_. That had to be why her parents couldn't believe it either. Carefully, Spencer began applying her makeup. Concealer, foundation, nude gloss, a light coating of mascara – all of it combined to form a mask of someone who couldn't possibly need a psychiatric evaluation. The compact snapped together and Spencer placed the makeup bag near the side of the bed. Resting against the flat hospital pillows, she waited.

Carolyn Lacey was a plump, bird-nosed woman with rich mahogany hair and hazel eyes flecked with bits of yellow. She wore thin wore frames that sat low across the bridge of her nose. Thin lips curled upwards in a smile as she entered Spencer's room, shutting the door behind her. "Hello, Miss Hastings," she said, lilted drawl indicative of Southern origin. "My name is Dr. Lacey. You and I will be chatting a little bit today, if that's okay with you."

Spencer straightened her back instinctively. Asserting dominance. "Spencer," she introduced herself, sticking her hand out. "And I'm under the impression that I wouldn't have much of a say in the matter, anyway," The boldness of Spencer's behavior seemed to take Dr. Lacey aback, but she returned the handshake nonetheless.

Dr. Lacey pulled out the plastic chair beside Spencer's bed and sat down. "That's true, Spencer," she hummed. "However, this is standard protocol for patients in your situation."

Feigning ignorance, Spencer asked, "And what would my situation be?"

"Why don't you tell me?" the psychiatrist suggested.

Spencer frowned. "As far as I know, I just didn't drink enough water before field hockey."

Clucking, Dr. Lacey jotted something down in her small, leather-bound notebook. She then leaned back in her chair, peering at Spencer over the frames of her glasses silently. Spencer mimicked the psychiatrist's silence. She'd watched enough episodes of _Law and Order: SVU _to know that if you make someone feel uncomfortable enough, they'd spill their secrets. Spencer intended on taking hers to the grave.

Staving off the discomfort proved to be harder than Spencer anticipated, though. After several minutes of what was panning out to be no more than an intense staring game, a nervous knot formed in the brunette's stomach. The whirring and humming of the various machines in the room seemed to grow louder and louder in her head as Dr. Lacey maintained her stare with pursed lips. Spencer shifted in her bed, breaking eye contact. "Look," she finally spoke, voice shrill, defensive. "I just... I don't know what to say, okay?" It was the truth, for once.

Dr. Lacey leaned forward with a reassuring smile. "That's okay. Why don't you start by telling me a little bit about who you are?"

"Well..." Spencer thought this was an odd question, but humored the beady-eyed psychiatrist anyway - honey versus vinegar, and all that. "obviously I play field hockey. Have since I was a little kid. I was student class president in eight grade and I've done Academic Bowl every year since I was a freshman. I'd like to think I'm going to be valedictorian when I graduate." She finished the statement with muted grin, meant to convey "_There, happy?"_

"Hmm," Dr. Lacey hummed. More writing in that damn notebook. "You talked about your achievements. However, I asked who you were. Meaning, what are you _like_? What are your interests and disinterests?"

Spencer frowned. She opened her mouth to speak, but was puzzled by the psychiatrist's observation. _What exactly are you getting at?,_ Spencer wanted to ask. Instead, there was a pause, and then: "I don't know. I like reading, hanging out with my friends. I guess I'm not really too big of a fan of field hockey, between you and me."

"Then why do you still participate in it?"

"My parents enrolled me and my sister in junior field hockey when we were younger. I guess it just makes sense to keep playing since they invested all that money into it and I'm actually good at it. Melissa was better, though." Nothing suggestive, just a simple fact.

Dr. Lacey didn't look surprised. "Melissa is your sister." Spencer nodded. "Do you and Melissa get along?"

_Oh, the stories I could tell_, Spencer thought. "I don't know. We fight like any other sisters would," she replied. "One could say that we don't see eye to eye on a lot of things."

"Can you give me one example?"

"_That's_ like asking me to pick a needle from a stack of needles. So not fair."

"Try, Spencer."

And she did, she genuinely, honestly, thought about it - for about two seconds. Reflecting on her relationship with Melissa pissed Spencer off. She didn't want to remember the time her parents chose to go to Melissa's field hockey game instead of her school's eighth grade Science Fair (Spencer had won first place). She didn't want to remember the time Melissa stole Spencer's "Italian villa" theme idea for their mother's dinner party and managed to get Spencer in trouble for tattling (grounded for 2 weeks). She just didn't want to remember. "Dr. Lacey," Spencer started, "with all due respect, I would really like to be done now."

Dr. Lacey shook her head. "I'm afraid we have to spend the entire hour together."

"Can we at least change the subject then?" Spencer was beginning to get frustrated. Why didn't this lady understand that she just didn't want to _talk_?

The psychiatrist quirked her lips. "Talking about your sister makes you upset." A statement, not a question.

_No shit_. "Wouldn't you be upset if your sister got everything you ever wanted?" Spencer countered defensively.

More writing. "What does she get that you don't?"

"Melissa the saint, Spencer the sinner," Spencer said, matter-of-factly. "She does nothing wrong, I do everything wrong. I'm not the golden child. It's fine. I've accepted that things will never change."

"You're preoccupied with this idea of 'perfection'," Dr. Lacey observed. "What do you find so _im_perfect about yourself?"

Spencer fell silent. The conversation was getting too close for comfort, and the brunette didn't want to say anything that would make the psychiatrist think that she needed more thorough therapy.

Dr. Lacey crossed her arms, fabric of her gray sleeves flowing, avian-like. "Spencer, how you choose to use this time is up to you, but it's my job to see this session through. I'm trying to help you, whether you believe that or not."

Sullen, Spencer turned her back to the psychiatrist. She could feel the blood rushing in her ears, her heart hammering in her chest. _This is so embarrassing_, Spencer couldn't help but think. These questions were too invasive, too personal. The things that Dr. Lacey wanted to know, they were things that no one - not even Toby - was privy to knowing. Gritting her teeth, Spencer blinked back tears. This wasn't supposed to be so damn _hard_.

Behind her, Dr. Lacey was tapping her pen rhythmically against the leather notebook.

_Taptap._

_Taptap._

_Taptap._

Growing agitated, Spencer whirled around. "_**WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU!?"**_she shouted, hands slamming down on the mattress.

Dr. Lacey blinked, unperturbed. She remained stoic.

"Do you want me to tell you that my parents fucking _**HATE **_me?! Do you want me to tell you that it's because I can't do _**ANYTHING **_right?" Spencer felt a fat salty tear spill down her cheek, then another. "Oh, I know! What if I told you that I was a disgusting _**COW**_! Maybe then everyone would leave me the _**HELL **_alone!" Spencer's eyes flashed with pent-up anger as her chest heaved up and down.

Dr. Lacey pursed her lips, unfazed by the sudden outburst. Spencer was sure she'd seen worse. "You called yourself a cow. Do you think that you're overweight, Spencer?" she asked calmly. Business as usual.

"I'm not _underweight_, if that's what you're getting at," Spencer snarled, no longer caring about false pretenses. If this lady wanted honesty, she was damn well going to get it.

"According to your medical chart, you are."

Spencer narrowed her eyes. "Well, whatever's in that _chart_ is _wrong_."

Dr. Lacey jotted a quick note. Looked back up at Spencer. "Are you afraid of gaining weight?"

Spencer laughed bitterly. "As if all women aren't."

"You've been actively restricting your food intake to lose weight."

"Is that a crime?" Spencer spat. "I don't think it's yours or anyone else's business as to what I do with my own body. I wasn't happy with my weight so I decided to change it. Big deal."

Dr. Lacey shook her head. "I'm not trying to figure out what you've been doing, Spencer. I've been trying to figure out why. Do you think it has something to do with your sister? Your parents, maybe?"

"I could set myself on fire and no one would bat an eye."

"Do you feel that by becoming a certain weight, your parents will give you more attention?"

Spencer's armor had been pierced, and she felt it. _Bad_. She leaned towards the psychiatrist, angry sneer on her face. "You don't get it, do you? _Nothing_ will be enough. Not for them, not for me. The world's a little too accepting of mediocrity, don't you think? And if you'll excuse me, our hour's up. Please leave."

Dr. Lacey was still, seemingly cataloging everything that happened in that moment. Then, slipping her notebook and pen into her briefcase, she stood up. "Very well. It was nice to meet you, Spencer. I'll convene with your parents and Dr. Woodgate as soon as possible to give them my recommendations. "

The door shut with a _click_. Completely drained, Spencer collapsed into her bed. She hoped to whatever the hell was out there that she didn't just seal her fate for the worse.

* * *

_AN: First, thank you all so much for your comments on Part I. I hope you enjoyed this one just as much. I felt that the diagnosis and evaluation were critical to demonstrating the gravity of an eating disorder, so I spent more time than anticipated on those aspects of the story. As a result, I'm going to extend this to __**3 **__parts instead of just 2. Being a holiday weekend and all, it will likely be posted sometime next week._


	3. Part III

**DRAGONFLY**

**PART III**

_**Spencer Hastings is fighting the battle of her life.**_

**Trigger Warning: The premise of this story involves Spencer having an eating disorder. Please read no further if this is a sensitive topic for you.**

* * *

Bored: That's how Spencer would describe herself if Dr. Lacey asked her that question now. It was one o'clock, and no one had stopped in to visit since the psychiatrist left. She'd already counted the tiles on the ceiling, read and re-read the rotation schedule on the white board opposite her bed. Nothing good was on the TV, only daytime soaps and talk shows that were mostly about who was and who was _not_ the father. Her favorite nurse, Noreen, had opened the window earlier, by request. Spencer was quite enjoying the gentle May breeze on her toes. With the sun shining into her room, bright and warm, Spencer could almost taste freedom. Taking a sip of her ice water, Spencer wondered what people would think of her when she got out of there. Would the truth get out? Would rumors really be that much worse? That would be another test. For now, though, she didn't have to worry, and the more she thought about it, the more she enjoyed her respite away from reality. Besides, the hospital was going to discharge her soon anyway. _Right?_

Shaking away her thoughts, Spencer picked up the Henry James book her father dropped off after work last night. _The_ _Portrait of a Lady_ was one of Spencer's favorites. Thumbing through the pages, the brunette realized that maybe she had a little more in common with Isabel Archer than she'd ever knew. Destiny and the loss of freedom... such depressing notions. Spencer didn't want to believe in either.

She was just starting to immerse herself in the first chapter when a small knock on the door pierced the silence. Startled, Spencer dropped the novel into her lap. She took a second to register the figure standing in the doorway and then smiled. "Aren't you supposed to be at school?" she teased.

Hanna shot her friend a wide smile over the stack of magazines and clothes she was carrying. Teetering towards the bed in her hot pink heels, she set the items in her hand down on Spencer's bed. She also slid two paper bags from her left arm. "School's overrated," Hanna answered as if it were the most obvious truth in the world.

Spencer chuckled. "Only you, Han. Seriously, though, what are you doing here?"

Hanna shrugged. "I figured you were probably bored as hell. And since I was bored as hell in Algebra, it just made sense for us to be bored together. Look, I brought Cosmo's quiz edition. We can find out who our celebrity hubbys should be!"

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Spencer couldn't hide her amusement. Usually, she would roll her eyes at these type of silly, meaningless quizzes, but the only thing Spencer felt like doing today was being, well, a normal seventeen-year-old girl. "I always had a thing for Ryan Gosling," she admitted sheepishly.

"I could totally see that," Hanna said, quite serious. She paused, tapping a finger to her chin. "I would probably have to go with Channing Tatum."

Spencer scrunched her nose. "Too beefy."

At the word "beefy", Hanna perked up. "Oh, that reminds me," she started, reaching into one of the brown paper bags and pulling out a drink of some kind and a turkey and cheese sandwich. "I brought us lunch."

Spencer suddenly felt nauseous at the prospect of eating. "Han, I appreciate it, but I... I'm not really supposed to eat that much right now," she lied. "Food will interact with the meds I just took."

Hanna shook her head knowingly. "Get real, Spence. The sandwich is mine. I brought you an Ensure. "

Sure enough, the drink in Hanna's hand was a nutritional shake. "But how..." Spencer trailed off, not quite knowing what to say.

"I know, okay? We all know. And that's why I'm not waltzing in here with a cheeseburger expecting you to devour it like you're me with PMS." Hanna tossed the Ensure in Spencer's lap and began opening the Ziploc bag containing her sandwich. Spencer dropped her gaze and pretended to read the label of the bottle, ashamed. She really had been found out, hadn't she?

"Han, I don't think I can talk about this," Spencer admitted. And it was true. If she were to talk about it, that would make her situation real, and reality? It was fucking scary.

The blonde nodded, biting into her sandwich. "I totally get it." She started flipping through the Cosmo in her lap. "I understand what you're going through, though, and it really sucks. That's all I wanted you to know." Eyes glued to the full-page poster of shirtless Channing Tatum, Hanna changed the subject seamlessly. "Hey, do you think his dance floor skills translate to the bedroom?"

Spencer wanted to cry at her friend's non-accusing honesty, her realization of the importance of not pushing too hard. "Definitely," she said, smiling weakly.

The answer seemed to satisfy Hanna. The blonde's eyes lit up at an unspoken thought that Spencer was positive she didn't want to be made privy to.

After twenty minutes or so of comfortable silence, each girl flipping through their respective magazines, Spencer heard her stomach protest its hunger. Hanna didn't look up, though the brunette knew she heard it. With slight hesitance, Spencer picked up the Ensure Hanna brought her and slowly peeled off the tamper-resistant plastic. Twisting the top off, a chocolatey scent permeated her senses. Despite its nutritional nature, it smelled like the most _divine_ aroma Spencer had experienced in days. A small deliberation, and Spencer tilted her head back, letting the gritty, milky drink slide coolly down her throat. An inadvertent "mmmm" spilled from her lips.

Hanna looked up from her magazine with a smile. "You know you're in trouble when that stuff tastes good."

"You've tried it?" Spencer asked, genuinely surprised.

"Sure," Hanna replied, closing the magazine in her lap. "If I pigged out too much one day, I'd basically only have that to eat, drink, whatever, the next day."

Spencer pondered her friend's answer. She knew that Hanna had an eating disorder in the past - bulimia - but didn't really ask too many questions about it after the fact. It felt invasive. Now, though, Spencer felt as if she were part of this - this _club_. An exclusive club, where maybe questions wouldn't be so inappropriate. Not that she wanted to admit to having such a thing. "Did your mom ever find out?" she asked curiously.

"Nope," Hanna said, shaking her head. "My mom just thought I dieted my way down to thin. She was proud of me. I never told her about the binging or the, you know... throwing up."

Spencer was shocked by this. Ms. Marin was such an involved mom, had such immense love for Hanna that she couldn't imagine the woman not knowing what her daughter was doing in her own house. She suddenly felt overwhelming sadness for her friend for having to go through bulimia alone. "Oh, Han," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."

Hanna shrugged. "I'm okay now, and that's what counts. But what about you, Spence? Are you okay?"

A long pause. "I guess if I was okay, I wouldn't be here, right?"

"What did your parents say?"

"Not much," Spencer admitted. "They just don't understand how their wonderful daughter could possibly have..." She couldn't quite bring herself to say the name of her illness. "It's the same old 'Spencer fucked up again' mentality they've always had. I'm not good enough for anyone, not even myself anymore."

Empathy shone in her friend's blue eyes. "That really sucks. Actually, this whole thing really sucks. Spence, you are so beautiful and strong and smart. Anyone who thinks otherwise can go to hell." Hanna spoke with such gravity that Spencer knew the blonde wasn't trying to placate her.

"Thanks Hanna," Spencer laughed meekly. "I just wish I could believe that myself, you know?"

Hanna nodded. "Trust me, I know. Sometimes I look in the mirror and still see 'Hefty Hanna' and I wonder why any of you would be my friend, what Caleb could possibly see in me as a girlfriend. Sometimes I question everything about who I am and what I'm capable of. It's a struggle, Spence."

Leaning forward in her bed, Spencer stared at her friend intently, like someone gazing into their tea leaves for answers about the future."How do you get over it?"

"You don't," Hanna admitted softly. "You learn to focus on the positive, to find things you love about yourself, and to hold on to those things when you're having a bad day. You surround yourselves with family and friends who do nothing but love and support you. If you do all of that, you'll find those bad days get fewer and farther between. But, you never totally get over it."

Taking it all in, Spencer raked her hands through her hair. "This sucks," she echoed Hanna's earlier words.

"Have you talked with your parents about how you feel yet?" the blonde asked.

"It's not like they would care."

"People can surprise you."

Spencer squirmed uneasily. "My parents aren't the touchy-feely type. You know that."

"Neither are you, but here we are, talking, right?" the blonde said between bites.

Hanna had a point. But, Spencer wasn't ready for that. There was someone else entirely she was hoping to talk to, but that hope was fading faster every day. "Hey, Hanna?"

"Yeah?"

"How's Toby?" she asked. Just saying his name hurt Spencer' heart.

Hanna shrugged one shoulder. "He's upset, Spence. Sad. Confused, mostly." She looked around for a water bottle or something to wash down her sandwich. "I'd ask if I can have some but I hate that stuff," the blonde remarked, gesturing to the Ensure.

A smirk ghosted across Spencer's face. "Sorry, Han. No stocked fridge in this hotel room." She grew serious again. "Does he know I'm here?"

Hanna bit her lip, before nodding sympathetically. "Yeah. Yeah, he does. Practically the whole school knows about you passing out at practice."

"Did I mess things up that bad?" Spencer asked, heartbroken at the revelation.

"God, no!" Hanna scolded Spencer for even entertaining the thought. "You were going through such a difficult time that trying to get Toby to understand would have been impossible. He loves you so much, Spence, he really does. I just think that because he's been so in the dark for so long, he doesn't know what to say."

"It doesn't feel like he loves me, Han. It feels like I blew it."

"For once, you need to worry about you and getting healthy again," the blonde said firmly. "then you can worry about Toby."

Spencer pondered her friend's words. Hanna was right. How would she be able to let Toby back in if she wasn't even being honest with herself? Knowing that there was someone close to her that understood what she was going through brought such relief that for the first time in months, Spencer felt as if she was capable of conquering her demons. "Thank you, Hanna," she said gratefully.

"Don't thank me, Spence. We're in this together, got it?"

Spencer grinned, a wide, genuine grin. The sun shone even brighter through the open hospital window. "Got it."

* * *

_AN: Sooo, I got carried away with Part III because I loved the Spencer-Hanna interaction and how natural their conversation was to write. I love their relationship because the show portrays them as polar opposites. Anyway, this means I'm continuing the story for at least one more part. Please review; I especially desire some feedback for this particular subject. __  
_


	4. Part IV

**DRAGONFLY**

**PART IV**

_**Spencer Hastings is fighting the battle of her life.**_

* * *

**Trigger Warning: This premise of this story involves Spencer having an eating disorder. Please read no further if this is a sensitive topic for you.**

* * *

Hanna's visit left Spencer feeling a little less alone. She wasn't optimistic about her situation, but was glad to know that there were little glimmers of light along the dark tunnel ahead. Best of all, Spencer knew she could trust Hanna with all of the delicate information she divulged; Aria, Emily, Toby, they wouldn't know any more about her situation than Spencer wanted them to know. The rest of the afternoon passed quietly, uneventfully. Nurses buzzed in and out of her room, Spencer counting at least 3 due to what seemed like a gazillion shift changes. Whatever the numbers on the of the machines she was hooked up to meant, Spencer didn't really know, but from what one particular nurse - Carrie - said, her vitals looked to be improving pretty impressively since her initial admission last week.

There was something to be said for progress and everyone's different ideas about the concept. To Spencer, progress was the decrease of the number on the scale, the increasing visibility of her rib cage and hip bones, the ever-present growling in her stomach that she refused to quell. Spencer realized that Dr. Woodgate's idea of progress was quite different. Progress to Dr. Woodgate was bringing the foreign language of numbers reflecting Spencer's physical health to within "normal" range. In a way - and despite every logical bone in her body - Spencer couldn't help but resent the physician for trying to reverse all of the progress she'd made over the past seven months. After all, Spencer figured, normalcy was equivocal to being average. What could be worse than being average, especially in a family where exceptionalism is the status quo?

_Nothing_. Spencer answered her own question as she looked towards the door wistfully. She'd been cooped up for so long that taking a walk seemed like the most appealing thing in the world; after all, there wasn't much she could do in the way of exercise in such a cramped room and with different tubes and wires hooked up to her. She pursed her lips in thought as she attempted to decipher which tubes and wires went where. Most seemed to originate from the heart monitor, readings from which Dr. Woodgate insisted be recorded vigilantly in case Spencer's choice of diet affected more than just her weight and vitamin levels (it hadn't, much to Spencer's relief). Finagling the tangle of cords to one side of the bed, Spencer swung her feet over the side of the mattress. It was on very shaky legs that the brunette stood up. A shower of black dots rained across Spencer's vision, accompanied by slight dizziness. Closing her eyes, she let the now-familiar feeling pass. Once it had, Spencer gripped the metal rod of the monitor and pulled it towards her, little black wheels spinning as the machine moved.

It was an ecstatic feeling to walk. Spencer made her way to the door, and then turned around and walked to the window. Back and forth, the little voice in Spencer's head counted each step, estimating calorie burn. Spencer reached two hundred and ten steps when she was stopped in her tracks. Outside of the small room window, she could see her parents and Drs. Woodgate and Lacey conferring in the hospital corridor. Her father was nodding intently. The amateur detective in Spencer really wanted to hear what was going on. She reached for the doorknob and slowly turned it. The door was pushed forward with a distinct _squeak_.

_Shit_.

Her mother's head snapped up abruptly, dark eyes darting to meet Spencer's stare. "Spencer? What are you doing out of your bed?"

"I, uh..." No credible lie came to mind. Instead choosing to own her actions, she opened the door fully. "I just needed to walk around," Spencer replied nonchalantly, composure regained. "Not a big deal."

Dr. Woodgate shook her head, concerned. "Spencer, you're supposed to be resting." She turned to the Hastings. A wordless exchange of glances, and then the physician spun back around. "Actually, Spencer, now would be a good time to chat. Please get back in bed. We'll be in to talk in just another minute, okay?"

Brows furrowed; it was Spencer's turn to be confused. What could they possibly want to talk to her about that they haven't already beat to death in earlier conversation? Nonetheless, she shrugged and retreated back to her room. If they wanted to play grown-ups, she'd humor them.

After a couple of minutes, the doctors entered the room, followed by Veronica and Peter. With their silence came tension; something wasn't right. Spencer sat up straight, anxiety coursing through her veins like electricity through a powerline. Then? She waited.

It was Dr. Lacey who spoke first. "Spencer, I very much enjoyed our discussion the other day and I want to thank you for giving me a glimpse into your thoughts. As I told you I would, I spoke with Dr. Woodgate and your parents about my recommendations."

"Recommendations," Spencer echoed, not trying to mask her disdain. "And what might your _recommendations_ be?"

Spencer saw the way her mother and father looked at each other, and then to Dr. Woodgate, who gave a single encouraging nod. She sensed something, and for the very first time in her life, perceived... regret. Peter sat down slowly at the foot of Spencer's hospital bed, his face weary and aged. "Spencer, honey..."

Spencer was becoming worried. Here her father was, sitting by her side, actually _concerned_. "Dad? What the hell is going on?'

When Peter took her hand, Spencer could have cried. She felt her lip tremble, mourning something about which she did not yet know. "Your mother and I... We screwed up, Spencer," her father began quietly, "We screwed up by not being there for you when you so obviously needed us, me especially. I don't know that I can ever make up for the pain that I've caused, honey, but it's time to start trying."

Spencer shook her head. "Dad, I - I don't understand. What are you trying to say?"

The brunette felt her mother's warm hand grip her shoulder reassuringly. Veronica spoke, voice warm and comforting. "Darling, we had a long talk with the doctors here, and with each other. We all want you to be healthy again and believe that it's in your best interest to go to Willow Creek after you're discharged from here. The best way of ensuring your recovery is inpatient treatment, Spencer."

Dark eyes widened as Spencer reeled from the decision. "Are you serious right now? What, do you guys want to hide away your dirty little secret again?" she spat.

Dr. Lacey smiled sadly. "Dirty little secret. Spencer, thoughts like that are the reason that I've advocated this path. Your eating disorder seems to have stemmed from the inadequacy you feel given your relationship with your parents."

"Don't _I _get a say in this?" Spencer asked, fat, salty tears pooling in her eyes. "This isn't fair!"

"What's not _fair _is the fact that my little girl is hurting herself because of the way I made her feel," Peter said firmly. "You're going, Spencer. This isn't up for debate."

And like that, Spencer felt her fate become sealed. She knew logically that treatment wouldn't be the worst thing ever, recalling her earlier conversation with Hanna and how the blonde had gone through her eating disorder completely and utterly alone. Spencer didn't want that for herself; she didn't want to push people away anymore. Moreover, she wanted her old life back, where her biggest enemy was A and not herself. The twisted little voice in Spencer's head was screaming otherwise, though. Resisting the asisine suggstion of _treatment_ with every ounce of strength available. _They're jealous of your willpower, Spencer. They want to see you fail. They want you to be fat like them._

An overwhelming anguish was seeping through the mental walls she'd built. Spencer, she was supposed to be so goddamn smart, but here she was, the voices in her head unable to come to a simple consensus: _recover or succeed?_

After a long while, she finally made up her mind. The "fine" was quiet, but it was certainly audible.

"Pardon?" Dr. Lacey asked.

Spencer closed her eyes, inhaled. Centered herself. "I said fine. I'll go," she repeated, her voice stronger this time. "Let the chips fall where they may, as they say."

"Oh, Spencer," Veronica sighed with a smile, wrapping her arms around her daughter in a nurturing embrace. All of a sudden, Spencer felt six years old again. She let the scent of her mother's vintage Anais Anais perfume fill her nostrils as Veronica stroked her head. After a few seconds, she felt another pair of arms circle around her, her father's. It was a scene that Spencer hadn't been a part of in years and a reminder that normalcy isn't always such a bad thing.

Maybe things would be okay after all

* * *

**Six weeks later...**

The June sun burned brightly in the sky, rays reflecting off of the calm cerulean waters of Reston Pond. Near the pond sat a barefoot Spencer, lush grass tickling her toes. Relaxing under the shade of one of the biggest weeping willows on the facility grounds, Spencer contemplated her newfound tranquility. She'd been at Willow Creek for over a month, and every day she found more about the facility to enjoy. From her amazing roommate Stephanie to the way the dining tables were adorned with vases of peonies to nineties movie nights on Thursdays... Things turned out to be much better than she'd originally thought possible.

So far, Spencer gained five and a half pounds back. It had been a battle at first, still was, in fact, but with daily group and individual therapy sessions, the brunette was starting to realize how dangerous the path she'd been going down was. More importantly, Spencer was hopeful for the future. Hanna and the girls visited constantly, and much to Spencer's surprise, her parents were consistently participating with her in additional family counseling sessions. The fact that they were taking an active role in Spencer's recovery and repairing their relationship with her meant more to the brunette than anything in the world. Even Melissa offered to fly in for some of their upcoming sessions. The Hastings were starting to become a real family again.

Closing her eyes, Spencer laid back on the grass and folded her arms behind her head. Happiness was attainable, of this she was sure. A key ingredient was still missing, though, and Spencer knew what it was.

"Hey." A man's voice interrupted her thoughts.

Spencer didn't need to open her eyes to know who it was. "You came." No question, because deep in her heart, there was never a doubt.

"I'm just sorry that it took me so long," Toby said, lying down in the the grass beside her.

Cracking an eye open, Spencer cocked her head to the side smiled. "It took me a while to get here, too."

Toby chuckled. "I mean it, Spence. You have no idea how many times I had to stop myself from coming to see you."

Spencer grew serious. "Why didn't you then?" She was genuinely curious for his response.

"Honestly?" he asked.

"Honestly."

Hand running through his hair, Toby sighed. "I guess I was a coward. When you started keeping me at a distance, I didn't know if it was me you had a problem with or something else. It hurt to find out what you were going through from the student grapevine. I know it sounds childish, but I came to the conclusion that even though you had this overwhelming secret to keep, you didn't trust or love me enough anymore to share it with me."

Spencer frowned, sitting up. "I didn't tell _anyone_, Toby. My eating disorder is not something I'm particularly proud of."

Following suit, Toby moved to a cross-legged position. He leaned forward, took Spencer's hands in his own. Spencer felt the familiar fluttering in her belly as she let Toby's thumbs trace gentle circles on her palms. "Spencer, there isn't a single part of you that you should be ashamed of because you are the most beautiful and resilient woman I know. I was a fool. I devolved into an immature boy because I didn't know how to put my emotional pettiness aside for the sake of your well-being. I _love_ you. I always loved you. Never _ever_ doubt that."

Spencer dropped her head, a shadow of a smile playing on her lips. "I love you too, Toby. You have no idea how much I missed you. Through everything, you were the first thing I thought of in the morning and the last thing I thought of before going to bed."

"And I will never be able to apologize enough for not being there for you like I should have been," Toby murmured, kissing Spencer's forehead gently. "I'm willing to spend the rest of my life trying, though."

"I'd like that," Spencer sighed, eyes fluttering closed again. She let herself fall against Toby's sturdy chest.

There beneath the weeping willow, Spencer and Toby remained in their embrace. Both of them knew there was a long road ahead to recovery, both for Spencer and for their relationship. The acceptance of the situation was conveyed without words; after all, there was no more need for talking, only healing.

And Spencer? Oh, was she ready to heal.

* * *

_AN: I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I tried to convey what it is like to have that conflicting inner dialogue as best as I could; however, it's something that I really still struggle with and so it might have ended up a little more "stream of thought". Anyway, please review, and stay tuned for future stories!_


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